Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Ugh.
Blah. Congrats on being wrong, National Weather Service. It wasn’t a sunny
start to part two of this unexpected hiking road trip. It was rainy and foggy,
with a wet chill in the air. Our hotel window had a view of North Twin, today’s
goal. Only, instead of sun and clouds, it was wet and we couldn’t even see the
summit. If either of us pushed to cancel the hike, the other probably would’ve
agreed to skip it, sleep in, and head home. But instead, we gamely got ready to
tackle the mountain.

Sara's expression tells you all you need to know about the weather. Ugh.

We
started hiking as the rain picked up, having to use the waterproof jackets. The
hoods helped keep us dry but prevented conversation as we trudged along. The
out-and-back route involved about two miles of flat terrain with three river
crossings, a mile-and-a-half of uphill, a half-mile of steep uphill, and a
half-mile of flatter trail to the wooded summit, with a great view shortly
before the summit’s cairn.

After
the prior day’s ten mile hike up Mount Carrigain left me with a second balky
knee, we moved at a slower pace, with the wetness contributing to our slower
pace. The stream crossings were running a little higher than normal from the
overnight rain, and we needed some care in crossing them. But the flat leg of
the hike still allowed for fairly good time. As predicted, the climb started
right after the last crossing and we began sweating as we worked our way up the
lengthy staircase.

Sara found her route across one of North Twin's three river crossings. Yay!

Luckily,
we never noticed the really steep section’s beginning. So, before we knew it,
we were close to the levelling off point. Time had passed more quickly than it
seemed, and we found ourselves well over three hours into the hike standing on
a rocky outcropping with an incredible view. Well, on a sunny day it would be
incredible. Like the prior day’s hike. But on this day we were in the middle of
a cloud, staring at an impenetrable wall of gray. It was like painting a
windowless room all gray and then trying to find something to admire. So we
trudged on to the summit, declared summit number 31 of our 67 4,000-foot New
England mountains “bagged”, and returned to the alleged view to have lunch.

What a beautiful view... the sunny day before.

Alas,
some wet wind had kicked in and we found ourselves cold and uncomfortable. We
decided to get back below treeline to cut the wind and moisture before breaking
for food. I only had one knee brace on as I only had one bad knee until the day
before, so I switched it to the other knee as I began my descent.

The
wet cold had penetrated us both, but Sara was having a tougher time with it.
She had packed in some added layers and stopped to swap out wet clothes for
dry. I gave her my gloves to warm her hands because I’m a fantastic hiking
partner and an even better guy (if I do say so myself), and in no time she was
toasty and comfortable.

We
finally found a nice boulder to sit on and eat lunch. But the weather left us
wanting to soldier on. My knees had this pre-ache feeling, as if they were just
waiting to flare up again. Sara trudged on ahead of me, finding it painful to
watch me. I used my hiking poles, limped, alternated which leg I’d use to take
initial steps down, took weird lines to keep my legs as comfortably straight as
possible, and even walked sideways for a quarter-mile to compensate for the
movements that hurt the most. My wipeout protected my knees but left me with a
wet derriere. With the weather and distance between us, we walked in much more
silence than the day before.

Sara navigated all three river crossings really well. Me? Not quite so lucky (or skilled)!

We
moved steadily along, and I found myself excited when we finally arrived at the
first return crossing of the river. It meant we’d flattened out and my knees
would be fine. We focused and found good routes across the river.

Arriving
at the second crossing, I remembered a blogger I read the night before, who
fell in on this crossing, with onlookers witnessing his fiasco. I used extra
care as I worked my way along, but nevertheless slipped myself, and immersed my
left leg. I hate-hate-hate wet shoes, with squishiness on every stride. I found
myself stuck, on all fours, except for the wet one thrashing in the air as if I
were a bucking bronco. But luckily my waterproof boot and the gator to keep my
lower legs dry actually kept my foot almost completely dry. Sara laughed but luckily
just missed capturing the fall on camera. She used to be more nervous on
downhills and water crossings, but has grown a confidence that matches her
skills, as evidenced by her effortless crossing and dry clothes.

We
finished off the hike at a fast clip and without further incident. After
high-fives, changing into dry clothes, cranking the pickup’s heater, and
grabbing drinks at a convenience store, we headed home. Not every hike can be
beautiful or phenomenal. But hikers hike, and we’ve now hiked 31 summits. We
might have one hiking weekend left in the season, and are finding glad we made
the most of our spontaneous trip into the Whites!

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Due
to some unexpected events, Sara and I found ourselves with a completely free
weekend with a beautiful forecast. So, clearly there was only one solution:
road trip!

Good view of North Twin from the motel!

In
our quest to summit all 67 4,000-foot mountains in New England over 67 months,
we’ve accumulated a few loose ends. We wanted to cross a couple of
single-summit hikes off the list. North Twin was orphaned from its South Twin
summit during our Labor Day Weekend hike with the girls across Galehead, South
Twin, and Zealand. Mount Carrigain just
sort of hangs out there, all by its lonesome. So this formed our itinerary for
the weekend. We’d start with Carrigain, the longer, tougher hike, and follow it
up with North Twin before heading home.

Sara helpfully pointed out the extremely large map. It was too big to fit in my pocket, so we stuck with the small, folded paper version we'd brought.

There
aren’t a lot of hotels in the North Twin area, even less that have a
refrigerator or microwave. By process of elimination, we found a place, the
Profile Deluxe Motel; despite being a 60-year-old motel, it’s clearly been
upgraded while retaining a nostalgic vibe, and it turned out to be inexpensive
but with some great touches. We set ourselves up Friday night, and Saturday
morning we found ourselves at a crowded trailhead at 9:00 a.m.

The
first couple miles of the ten-mile, out-and-back hike were easy, and we chatted
across a mix of topics as we made good time. Then Carrigain began rising significantly from its immediate surroundings. It became an ongoing climb
until we were half a mile from the five-mile halfway point. At that point, the
trail opened up and we began to get great views. Two weeks earlier, we’ hiked
the north side of the Pemigewasset Wilderness with the girls, and had views
that were amazing, at times with Carrigain at the southern end. Most of the
amazing views we normally have still include condos or towns dotting the
landscape. But in the Pemi, the landscape is pure wilderness; nothing but
nature. Now, we began seeing across it to our prior hike.

The views from Carrigain's Signal Ridge begin to show a slew of summits in the Pemigewasset Wilderness.

When
we finally hit the summit and found a fire tower, we were able to sit on the
platform and see for miles as we snacked. We spread out our map and Sara began
pointing out the summits we’d already crossed off the list, as well as some in
our future.

Looking back from the summit at the trail across Signal Ridge that would return us to the parking lot.

The
hikes we’ve done and those remaining were part of a meandering conversation that,
for the first time, touched on what we might do after our “New England 67”
personal challenge. We explored the idea of a hiking bucket list; no lengthy
challenge but maybe a series of particularly interesting hikes, such as a Pemi
death march across a slew of summits; a winter overnight hike; a week-long hike
including stays at all of the AMC’s high mountain huts; a group hike with a
couple of friends’ families… the topic made for an interesting distraction from
the grind, and to think about how hiking might look after May of 2018. And
then…

My
knee flared up on the descent. Not my occasionally gimpy left knee. No, that
would be predictable and mitigated by the knee brace I’d bought. Nope. Life
throws you curves, and sometimes you get plunked by those pitches. At first I
thought I was imagining things. But as it kept worsening, I soon realized my
right knee was doing the same thing my left normally does. Seriously, this is
ridiculous. I’m already trying to protect two bad feet, a bad knee, using
hiking poles. Does it count if I just parachute to the summit, plant a “Jay was
here!” flag, take a picture, and get airlifted out? I used to hate the uphill
grind. Now it’s the only reliable part. It’s as if I’m part of some cosmic
experiment, and I can only imagine what’s next: “let’s see what happens this
time if we… dislocate his kneecap!” “How about now he rips his groin muscle off
the bone?” By the end of the descent I could barely walk. Then I had a 1.7
(allegedly) flat hike back to the parking lot on the final trail.

Early signs of Autumn. Boo...

When
we hit that trail intersection, we saw a guy sitting there. It turns out we saw
him at the summit with friends, and he’d sped past them on the way down. He was
waiting for them, as they were about fifteen minutes behind us. Sanjay had
recently come to the U.S., was working on his doctorate from Dartmouth, and
this was his first summit. One of the friends Sanjay was accompanying was
finishing his forty-seventh New Hampshire summit, leaving just Mount Washington
the following weekend before finishing all that were in New Hampshire. It was
refreshing to see someone so excited by life, finding new ways to explore the
world around him and making the most of his experience. He was so enthusiastic
and optimistic that we couldn’t help but wish him all the best.

Fabyan's Restaurant at Bretton Woods was the perfect apres-hike spot to enjoy a last touch of summer and some laughs with Sara!

After
lingering in a pleasant conversation, we headed on. Every little descent led to
bone-on-bone shooting pains up my leg. Sara let me set the pace, but as we
neared the end of the trail we heard some hikers approaching us. She noted them
and we got a bit competitive, making a dash for the finish line. We had a great
but stupid pace for the final stretch, bursting back into the parking lot and
high-fiving each other before I limped to the truck.

We
felt we’d earned a reward, and knew we’d pass Fabyan’s restaurant on the way
back, across from the Bretton Woods ski resort. It appeared to be a good place,
named after one of the prominent historical figures in the area and converted
from a former train depot but retain that old-time feel. Although we hadn’t
brought a change of clothes, Sara had some layers she hadn’t used that she
could change into. I had to resort to hanging my sweaty, wet hiking shirt off
the back of the truck to at least be air dried by the time we hit the restaurant.
We sat outside, enjoying some great food and view, soaking in one of the last
summer-like days of the season.

Another summit,another problem.

That
evening, as we laid in the hotel room, my legs a sore mess, we were still
happy. We’d hit our thirtieth summit and had some great conversation along the
way. My knee pain had subsided once we hit flatter terrain and then finished
hiking, leaving me comfortable trying for a hike the next day. We knew the
season was nearing an end, but had picked up some hiking momentum and now felt
a renewed connection to the mountains. All in all, it’s hard to call this a bad
day!

Day
1: 5.6 miles in 4:04; Day 2: 7.2 miles in 7:24; Day 3: 2.9 miles in 1:34)

As a
dad, I want the best for my girls, see them as wonderful, and worry about them.
As a divorced dad, I worry about maximizing my time with them, and about giving
them enough guidance and support for them to have the skills and tools to
achieve the lives they want and deserve.

Prior
to our Labor Day Weekend hut-to-hut hike in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, I
knew they weren’t excited. They were surprised when I acknowledged it and said
I didn’t care. But I explained that the biggest goal is to put them in a
challenging, stressful situation and to make them work at managing through it.
They can decide the whole trip is miserable, cry, and trudge slowly along. But
it will only make it more miserable with more hours hiking then it has to be.
The alternative is differentiating between the parts that suck and the parts
that can be joyous. They understood the point but questioned why they couldn’t
just have one awful day instead of three. Now that they’re getting older, I can
be more candid with them. The good news, I replied, is that it’s only three
days long. I’ve had a couple of different things going on that has made the
last month blow, with the potential of another ten months of stress. It didn’t
excite them to become a grown-up, but was honest.

Hiking's version of the pre-game experience.

We
drove up that Friday, contending with traffic and spread across two cars
because of needing to car cache since the hike wasn’t a loop. It gave a chance
for Sara and I to each have some solo time with each girl and see how their
school year was starting off. They were a bit wound up, chattering and enjoying
settling into the hotel that night, near the start of our hike.

The
next morning led me to need to reiterate my points to my oldest daughter, who
was miserable at the thought of the hike. We spoke earnestly, and I didn’t
chastise her for her tears. But the message was still clear: feel how you feel,
but if the event is still going to occur, you have a choice on the storyline.
It’s fair to acknowledge the tough parts but important to practice letting go
of that negativity when better moments present themselves.

Trailside yoga!

The
first leg of the hike started gradually, which presented a chance to settle in.
We moved at a steady pace, until late in the hike when there was a steeper
climb, essentially climbing a staircase for about forty minutes. But then it
levelled out for the final stretch to AMC’s Galehead Hut. We’d started after a
group of varsity boys from a nearby private school. We’d caught them,
leapfrogging but now moved past them and hustled to finish first. The girls had
noted the techniques they’d use this hike to help manage their mindset, and
this was yet another way to distract themselves. It also was a source of pride
and high-fives as we checked into the hut. The girls were happy to get settled
in bunk beds in one of the bunk rooms, as Sara and I bagged the Galehead summit
a half-mile away. We returned to find the girls content and a bit tired, but
happy to hang in the dining area at one of the long tables, playing cards,
reading maps, snacking, and chatting. After a delicious dinner, we took in the
beautiful view into the Pemigewasset wilderness from outside the hut.

Admiring the view from Galehead's summit, on the north side of the Pemigewasset Wilderness

Group hugs at sunset outside of the Galehead Hut!

A
colorful sunset and gentle breeze was nice before the falling temperature drove
us back inside. Secret surprises such as the choose-your-own-adventure book
that Sara packed in helped keep the girls interested and engaged, before they
excitedly snuggled into their sleeping bags. The girls had managed themselves
well, containing their dislike mostly to the staircase section of the hike and
chafed shoulders from their packs.

The
real challenge was the second day of the hike: over seven miles across their
first two four-thousand-foot summits and a couple thousand feet of elevation
gain; all during a hot, sunny day. But both girls showed me something they
don’t often demonstrate: true strength. This was a rugged hike regardless of
age, with a serious climb in the first mile.

South Twin's 4,902-foot summit offered amazing views!

The girls bagged their first summit!

Over the day, my oldest routinely
pushed the pace. She was strong, she effortlessly navigated rockier sections,
and seemed downright fast for the first few hours before slowing down to being merely
quick later on. But she chatted amicably, occasionally slowed or waited for the
rest of the group, and happily paired off with whomever would join her at the
front of the line. At the end of the hike, seven hours in, she was passing
other groups of experienced hikers. My younger daughter was slower, but tried
to keep up as best as she could, and maintained a good attitude even though she
was so worn out that she couldn’t even walk straight by the end of the
hike. It’s one of the best displays of
perseverance and toughness I’ve ever seen from them. Afterwards, they found
some rewards at the Zealand Hut.

Yep. We've gotta hike a bunch of that.

Waterfall at the end of the hike? Score! We're having fun now!

Right
by the hut was a waterfall that leveled out before another big drop-off. With
the sun still shining down, we soaked sore feet and legs in the chilly water,
washed grime off of ourselves, dried off on warm rocks, chatted, laughed,
explored, and admired the view. After dinner, wearing glowstick necklaces, we
all climbed into the side-by-side third story bunk beds that Sara and I were
in, with half-walls sealing these two beds off from the rest of the room. The
girls laughed and lost themselves in the simple joy of mad libs, and later enjoyed
the three story bunk beds as they nestled into beds again, glow sticks casting
faint light as they quickly fell asleep.

Triple bunk beds at AMC's Zealand Hut meant three times the fun at the end of the day.

The
final day was easy. Three miles used to seem far too long to them but now it
represented a short walk. Packs didn’t seem as heavy. And with most of this leg
being flat trails, they found it easy, with a chance to chat and see some of
the mountains they’d hiked.

The girls are walking out over much easier (but still picturesque) terrain.

Stopping
for lunch partway home, they noted that they could feel pride in their
accomplishment. They could see how the miserable parts could be
compartmentalized and not affect the whole trip. They could appreciate how they
persevered. They also lost themselves in the experience, never complaining
about needing iPhones or lamenting not being with their friends. The lessons we
attempted to teach did register. But, for me, there were memorable moments,
too: the group excitement of finally solving the choose-your-own-adventure
mystery of the Lost Jewels of Nabooti; Sarah’s stuffed animal taking credit for
bagging Zealand’s summit; the girls chilling out on their first 4,000-foot
summit, answering questions from Appalachian Trail through-hikers about state
capitols; Sydney’s commanding pace for hours; Sarah’s eternal good spirits;
Sydney’s laughter at the waterfall; the excitement of triple bunk beds. It’s a
rush of memories competing in my head that leave me with an emotional crash
going back to work, but one that wonderfully combined tough parenting and a
great experience.

See
you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

Sara's secret surprise for one daughter summed up a major lesson from the hike!

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Two
days earlier, Sara and I hiked a hard ten miles across the two Kinsman summits
in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. By
the end, I could barely walk; my feet held up well, for the first time in well
over a year. But my left knee flared up badly. One day earlier, the skies
opened up and dumped over an inch of rain. Since we were staying at a hotel, we
poked around town and rested our tired, hurting bodies.

As our
last hiking day dawned, I knew in the first few steps out of bed that my knee
still wasn’t right. Anxious and pissed, I was unsure if I’d have a chance to
return this hiking season. I was twelve summits behind schedule in my goal of hiking
all 67 4,000-foot New England summits over 67 months, and my body failed me
enough in the last year.

I didn’t
talk much as we quickly packed up. We prepared as if we would go hiking, but I
wasn’t sure if I’d even set foot on a mountain. After eating a quiet breakfast
and checking out, I limped to the truck and we climbed in. Sara turned to me
and I explained that I truly didn’t know what I was capable of accomplishing,
but needed to try. Sara was great about going with the flow and not remotely acknowledging
me being the anchor on her own hiking goals.

Sara, navigating the rocky sections better than me (and looking more fashionable in her sweaty band!)

We
arrived at the trailhead, strapped on our packs, set up our hiking poles, and
set off, along with a couple of groups repairing sections of trails. One set up
to work a section shortly in from the parking lot and another practically
sprinted by us to work farther up the trail.

I
shouldn’t hike. But I was going to give it what I could. I quickly adopted a
strategy to use my right foot to initiate any step up or down or for longer
strides. I’d also use hiking poles to distribute weight and to support my left
foot when my right couldn’t step first.

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Unlike
the Kinsman hike, we chatted very little, checking in on each other
periodically. Our pace wasn’t strong, but at least it was steady. After an
hour, I began to believe I could reach the summit. If successful, I could hike
out regardless of the pain, and claim success at knocking another mountain off
the list. But adding the second Osceola summit increases the distance by about
30%, which seemed to be pushing my luck.

A
big rule for survivalists is to be willing to adapt to changing circumstances.
Obstinately pushing on to tackle two summits in this condition is stupid.
Actually, one summit is stupid. Two becomes moronic and potentially
dangerous. So I began thinking about how
only hitting one summit becomes a silver lining. Deliberately losing myself in
thought, I soldiered on.

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

"The Chimney", between the two peaks of Osceola,is more free climb than hiking, and a ton of fun!

After
clearly gaining height and levelling out, I knew we were approaching the
summit. We came onto a rocky clearing with gorgeous views and a chance for Sara
to see which summits she could identify. We snacked as I pondered my next move.
There was a chilly breeze and a threat of afternoon thunderstorms, reinforced
by a storm cloud suddenly coming into view nearby. While it began seeming
likely it would just miss us, it was still time to move. Stubbornly and
stupidly, I pushed on and Sara didn’t challenge me.

We
descended toward a col between the two summits, which is hardest on my knee. We
then hit “The Chimney”, which is a chute of rock forcing a free climb down. We
passed poles to each other, and tried to not be unnerved. After high-fives upon
successfully reaching the bottom, we continued on. Sara and I agreed that if I
had a flare-up in the near future, I could hike out the shorter trail straight
ahead while she would retrace her steps, get the truck, and drive around the
mountains to pick me up. Despite the ridiculous decision-making involved and
the slower pace, we eventually found ourselves on the second summit. We now had
two summits under our belts and were halfway done. But the hike back to the
original summit began to create some twinges, and I resumed my focus.

Yeah, we bagged that peak!

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Admiring the view from the top of the world.

Sweating
from exertion, we emerged again onto the open summit, took in the view and some
food, but tried not to rest for too long. Sara’s water had leaked so she now
was in short supply. I began rationing mine, too, in case she needed it,
although she never uttered a complaint. The hike back to the trailhead broke
into stages for me, and I used landmarks to remind myself that I was closing in
on the finish line. But the pain continued to grow, the pace continued to slow,
and my focused efforts at hiking on one foot began to get sloppy.

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Time to put these summits in the "done" column,even if Sara still looks fresh!

As
we leveled out near the end of the hike, I knew I’d shortly start to rest and
recover. I’d sandwiched four summits and almost 19 miles of hiking around a day
of downpours, rest, and reconnecting with Sara. I also knew I’d been a fool to
have taken these chances, and Sara hadn’t policed me. As a team, we probably
egged each other on more than supported each other, Sara deferring to my
judgment and happy to hike both mountains; me stubborn, loathe to disappoint
her, and a typical guy who’d rather suck it up and risk bigger problems than
use his words. There’s a lesson here about improving our group decision-making,
but at least we survived. I do also feel some pride over the perseverance this
took, and adapting my approach to be successful. While I can often ruminate
when in a bad place, this time I managed myself well, even if it were an odd
technique: any time I felt negative thoughts creeping in, I repeated my saying,
from start to finish. And no matter how childish the saying, or how fleeting
the negative thought, or how many hundreds of times I recited the lines, I kept
going.

“You put your right foot up, you put your
right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do
the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

We
had a long-planned vacation week in mid-August, but no plans until the last
minute. As part of filling out the week’s itinerary, we booked one of the final
available rooms at the Woodstock Inn Station & Brewery, in North Woodstock,
New Hampshire. We stayed here a couple years earlier, after an unexpected
Memorial Weekend snowstorm and flooding left us cold and tired from hikes we
tackled when our original plans were cancelled. We also experienced a recent teaser
when we stopped here in late June for delicious pulled pork nachos after hiking
nearby Mount Moosilauke. This place is great for accommodations, food, and
award-winning craft beers, and is near several hikes on the list of New England
4,000-footers. So, somewhat spontaneously, we booked and headed up on a Sunday
evening.

The
night before our first hike, we settled in with camaraderie and good cheer at
the bar. I resisted the desire to stuff my face with great food, reasoning that
I could do so the next day and chalk it up as “refueling” after a tough hike.
But the next morning, with the full breakfast included, it was easy to chow
down before heading off.

Last time I was here was half a lifetime ago, with friends and family. Now I'm back with someone who's both.

The
hike up the Kinsmans started out easy, walking through a campground. I camped
there many times as a kid, stayed a couple times in college with friends, and
found it weird to walk through twenty years later. Memories resurfaced, and
allowed a little sharing with Sara about scattered bits of my childhood, and a
couple of memorable trips late in high school and college. Even the most recent
trip was over half of a lifetime ago, but still feels as if it were only a year
ago. But those thoughts were pushed aside because the first mile toward
Lonesome Lake was the hardest in terms of incline and cardio effort, leaving me
sweating like a stuck pig by the time we glimpsed the lake through the trees. We
bypassed the AMC hut beyond the lake, not needing to resupply water this early
in the hike.

The stillness of Lonesome Lake served as a mirror to a picturesque sky.

On the other side, the trail devolved into a rougher, rockier, less worn trail, with some steps bolted into the rocks, until we emerged on the summit of North Kinsman. It’s wooded, so we weren’t sure we were even there at first. But with a short spur out to a rocky ledge, we found some incredible views. It was a great stop for some food and rest, and hard to leave. The walk up involved ongoing conversation, meandering between topics, but the view was breathtaking and we were silent for much of the break.

Stunning views on a secluded granite ledge provided a perfect spot for a lunch date.

Heading
onward to South Kinsman, we resumed conversation until we reached the summit. We’ve
both been so busy with work, so the opportunity to drift among topics also
offered the chance to reconnect and share the less important stories and
thoughts that didn’t get airtime before but allowed us to bond more fully. A
cairn marked the high point, and was formed in the shape of a throne, allowing
you to sit and take in a 360-degree view of the mountains over the intermittent
scrub pines dotting the mountaintop. We would have lingered longer, had the
flies not driven us off.

This is a picture of Sara sitting on "the throne". What? Why are you giggling?

The
rest of the hike involved retracing our steps. As we passed through the North
Kinsman summit and began an ongoing descent, I realized my chronically hurting
feet were holding up well. But my knee, occasionally gimpy, was beginning to
flare up. I ignored it, as I had no choice. But as we continued dropping
elevation, it continued worsening. This sort of straight ahead stepping down is
the worst thing when it acts up, and eight miles into the hike I began having
trouble walking.

The AMC "croo" improve these trails through backbreakinglabor... while wearing a vest and tie!

We
passed an Appalachian Mountain Club “croo” who were breaking rocks, cutting
logs, and creating some amazing trail improvements. The amount of effort these
guys put into that work, and the energy it takes to improve each successive
foot of the trail, is nuts. These guys clearly love what they do, and smiled
appreciatively as we hiked by and expressed our appreciation for their work. I
was limping before we ran across them but then felt obligated to do the man
thing where I walk normally as pass them, not acknowledging the pain. But once
out of sight I resumed my worsening limp, and by the time we hit the AMC hut I
was out of water and struggling heavily.

Why do my kids think they're so cool when theystrike this pose, but Sara and Ted aren't?

I
refilled my water bladder and rested as Sara tended to her broken blister. She
and I reluctantly set out one last time to finish the hike out. We stopped
chatting and bonding, as I began using my poles more as crutches, limping badly
but persevering since no other option existed. For all the beauty, the
conversations, and the adventure that bonded us over a challenging day, I ended
the hike lost in my own bad space.

I
recovered a little bit over a refreshing raspberry wheat beer and an unusual
and deliciously salty Cubano sandwich. But I was nervous; my feet failed me for
a year, were still affecting my choice of hikes for a second year, and now
having the knee screaming in pain after our first day of hiking wasn’t good. Sara
has been an avid hiker for years, and I chose to immerse myself in it a few
years back partly as a way to bond with her and learn from her, not to become
the anchor dragging down her ability to enjoy this activity. Frankly, this
sucks. The big question for me was how I would rebound after some much-needed
sleep. But I guess without a challenge, it wouldn’t be much of an adventure.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

This
was to be the final tune-up hike for my family before a Labor Day Weekend hike
in which my girls would summit their first 4,000-foot mountains as part of a
hut-to-hut hike. It was sunny and warm, but not brutally so, unlike their hike
a month earlier when the heat messed with us.

This
hike was re-planned following one daughter’s ankle injury. She was relegated to
a medical boot for a couple of weeks to rest a chronic ankle problem that had
worsened. Modifying the itinerary to be less mileage and elevation gain would
avoid immediate stresses on the ankle that might result in re-injuring it. Mount
Tom, in Western Massachusetts, is neither high nor strenuous. But the trail to
its summit covers most of the elevation gain early, and often follows cliffs
that provide fantastic views of the Connecticut River Valley. It’s also only
about an hour’s drive from the house, avoiding the much longer ride into New
Hampshire’s White Mountains.

﻿

My daughters' least favorite part of hiking: up.

After
parking but before starting the hike, we checked out the visitor’s center. It’s
not big, but features a mix of conversation-starters: a cross-section of a tree
trunk several hundred years old; pelts you can touch; skulls to match with the
right animals; and friendly staff who will explain those items and more. After
the girls were sufficiently grossed out, especially by the animal pelts with no
eyes, we started the hike.

Both
girls were lethargic and slow, seeking excuses to stop. They had to be woken up
in the morning, so their bodies didn’t have the amount of sleep they desired.
But I also wondered about a less physically active summer contributing as well.
As a training hike, one goal involved achieving a good pace. The huts we’ll be hiking to are prompt about
dinner, and bunks can be first come, first serve. Hiking in the dark is a whole
other ball of wax, too. So, with the upcoming hike having a long day of seven
miles, stopping every few minutes isn’t going to work. I finally felt forced to
stop, explain, and request we maintain better speed. They obliged, and the
second half of the ascent unfolded with great views and better time. The summit
itself lay under a hot sun, so we descended slightly to a wooded area that
served as a better spot for lunch.

Descending
the same way we’d climbed, we again enjoyed great views. We also shaved about
20% off our time. My older daughter continued to seem to struggle and wasn’t
very talkative, but she persevered without complaint, spending more time toward
the front of the group. I’d been setting the pace on the climb, but acted as a
sweeper on the return trip, and mostly chatted with my younger daughter. She
seemed in good spirits, but I soon noticed a limp that worsened during the
remaining hike out.

Bravely standing on the edge of a cliff, soaring with the falcons.

She
explained to me that her ankle had, in fact, sometimes hurt when her medical boot
was on, and it continued to hurt since the two weeks expired. At this moment,
it was hurting bad enough to almost warrant crying. When I’d checked on her
during the preceding days, it turns out she answered literally: “it doesn’t
hurt” meant that, at that precise moment in time, it was pain-free, unlike some
other moments when it did hurt. Ugh, bad time to be so literal!

The faster you descend, the faster you get back to the truck. P.S. if you look up, the views are beautiful!

After
coming out of the woods, we got her off her feet. It leaves plans unsettled on
a few fronts. I’m unclear how much
healing even occurred, let alone if it’s enough to keep our Labor Day Weekend
hiking plans. I’m also unsure if she’ll be able to start up again with dance
classes in the fall, which greatly contributed to the original issue. Those
classes have given her more confidence, assertiveness, perseverance, feelings
of accomplishment, and physical activity that anything else over the last year,
so she’d be heartbroken at missing a month or two of classes. Lastly, I’m
unclear how injured she is and what the exact injury might be. The doctor was
sure the boot would do the trick, but she limped painfully by the end of a very
gentle hike.

Although
I questioned the doctor thoroughly at her appointment, and this activity was
explicitly approved, I can’t help but now question myself for pushing her. I
had the best of intentions, and the upcoming hike will be strenuous for them,
requiring some training. But guilt is always easy for a parent to come by.

A
big point of the upcoming hike is to push the girls outside of their comfort
zones. While I’ll always want to protect my girls and see them happy, life won’t
allow them to live entirely in a happy, easy space. Learning to be comfortable
being uncomfortable becomes important; it creates coping skills, allowing the
girls to better manage both themselves and difficult situations. If the
girls are to have and pursue dreams, achieving those dreams and goals will only
happen if they can deal with tough challenges. Rather than keep them in an
alternate reality of easy bliss until adulthood, I’ve chosen to create challenges for them to
overcome, with obvious rewards and a chance to experience the stress and then
the pride of such experiences. Seems like a good plan, but not when the training
plan involves crying on one hike and almost crying on another.

So,
now the challenge is to figure out how best to move forward without compounding
my guilt and her injury, but while still finding opportunities for the girls to
challenge themselves and grow. Will we still hike? Will we cancel but look for
an alternative adventure to push them beyond their comfort zone? I don’t know
how this will play out, but who ever said parenting was easy?

I’d
like to think I’m a good dad: I promote reading, creativity, physical activities.
I have my special foods such as omelets and grilled cheeses that are as good as
any chef could make. A few years ago, I even turned a rainy day into Spa Day,
although the girls established that no amount of make-up can make me beautiful.
And, of course, I worry that I’m constantly getting things wrong, which will
inevitably lead to their therapy to come to grips with my mistakes (“Dad! How could you tell us that swallowing apple
seeds would cause us to poo crabapples in the Fall?!?!”).

We
headed out for another training hike in mid-July, in advance of our three-day,
hut-to-hut hike in New Hampshire’s White Mountains over Labor Day Weekend. We’d
purchased hiking boots for the girls and this was a second chance to break them
in. The Welch-Dickey Loop is a 4.5-mile trail that is renowned for its views,
and would offer the girls their first chance to hit two summits in a single
hike. It is also a good hike for families. Allegedly.

She's either learning about delicate ecosystems or finding an excuse to not hike.

Everyone
was dressed appropriately, with plenty of water and food in their packs as we
set out from the trailhead. The weather was beautiful but steamy, and later in
the morning than I preferred. I quickly learned that the weather would dominate
the hike.

Only
a few hundred yards into the hike, I sensed that something was wrong with my
older daughter. I suspected that if I were reading her right, she’d cry if I
asked directly. Do I ask? Do I silently nudge her along? Do I stop and turn
back and let the other two go on? I agonized in my head for a moment before
probing. Sure enough, she broke down. She didn’t feel well, which I concluded was
due to over-exertion and under-hydration the prior couple of (hot) days, so she
was starting this hike at a deficit and the heat and humidity were quickly
getting to her. The tears were partly because of how she felt, and partly out
of frustration.

We
didn’t quit the hike. Sara and my youngest daughter paired off for a bit while
I coached my oldest to keep hydrating and showed her how she can soak her
bandana in the nearby stream to cool off her neck. We continued on until we
arrived at the first clearing, partway up Welch Mountain. Some brownies and
water helped refresh a little before soldiering on.

Is it a lesson in disco or geography?

The
trail continued steeply up open rock, under bright sun, with temperatures now
well into the 80’s. The girls persevered but it took real effort. Reaching the
summit of Welch Mountain wasn’t glorious; it was a relief. We found a secluded
spot and rested. I noticed my oldest was again shedding some tears. She nestled
her head on Sara’s lap and covered her face with the wet bandana, under the
pretense of hiding from the sun beating down on us. Since her tears were silent
and she laughed occasionally, we grown-ups pretended to not notice. We also
eventually pushed the girls on, seeking a chance to get
back under the tree
canopy.

I proudly watched the girls faced their fears on a challenging descent!

We
were immediately faced with an intimidating descent in the saddle between Welch
and Dickey. Scared, the girls still moved forward, scooting on their behinds
through part of it, careful to avoid a steep drop-off on one side. The canopy
was nowhere to be found, so we continued to cook as we moved to the summit of
Dickey Mountain. We continued along a ridgeline for a while before coming out
on a big expanse of cliff overlooking much of the loop we’d traversed. Then,
finally, blessedly, we descended below tree line and after what seemed like
forever, we emerged back at the parking lot.

I
watched the girls closely much of the time, and when one had a water bottle
with funky water, I gave my own to keep her going. I prompted refueling
periodically, sometimes with brownies. But I kept pushing them. Tears have a
way of making me question my actions. But, upon hitting the second summit and
even over the next hour of mostly still being in the open, I noticed my oldest
slowly but increasingly bounce back. She even became outgoing and animated for
the first time even though we were over three hours into the hike, showing an
ability to endure.

On the summit of Dicket, with Welch behind us."Quick, girls - pretend you're happy and smile!"

We dined
at a restaurant and they earned the right to eat whatever they wanted. This was
not billed as a tough hike, but the weather truly challenged us. Yet, I watched
one who normally lags push herself, maintaining a much better pace than she
normally does while remaining upbeat. Her commitment to dance and basketball
and her increased physicality paid off in a way not previously seen, not to
mention taking the lead over her sister near several cliffs. I watched another
who can shy away from risks and challenges push herself as well. Seeing her
grow stronger over the course of the hike, and push through her fears near very
steep spots, allowed me chances to point out her successes, hopefully giving her
more belief in herself.

One daughter bravely venturing onto a cliff

Actually,
all of these hikes aren’t just about family bonding that the kids would be
happy to skip. They’re opportunities for the girls take on very real and increasing
challenges and equally real successes. It’s also about equipping them with the
skills to navigate when outside their comfort zones. Pictures with them bravely
(and timidly) standing on the edge of a cliff with a steep drop-off, or with
the first summit in the background, aren’t just capturing family moments.
They’re also trophies earned through perseverance. My Man Code requires that I
be emotionally stunted and bury the few feelings I still feel. But it was poignant
to watch them dig deep and offer up an achievement worthy of pride, and to
laugh in the process. I am still as utterly confident I’ll screw something up
in the near future as I am that science teachers would disapprove of my
“teaching” the girls that oceans taste salty because of all of the fish pee.
For this hike, however, it felt as if it weren’t just a demonstration of the
kids’ triumphs, but also a great parenting moment.